


A Notable Lack Of Southern Hospitality

by Synthtraitor



Series: The Saints Come Marching In [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: A little bit of violence, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Backstory, Fake AH Crew, Gen, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synthtraitor/pseuds/Synthtraitor
Summary: Suddenly, he’s displaced, he’s not leant forward over a shopping cart as his sister squeals, brown hair splaying out behind her like a fan, stuck – stuck – stuck in that moment for the rest of his life as he sinks into the happiness and childish glee – he’s in a motel room, hair dripping from his shower as he stares at his shadowed reflection.The TV bumbles on, the picture shorting out for a few seconds before the man returns, teeth white as he smiles and explains how life really is that simple, how a simple and economically priced vacuum cleaner can make everything just that easy.Life existed before the Fakes, he hopes it'll exist after as well.





	A Notable Lack Of Southern Hospitality

The lamplight is a yellow-orange that pitches the otherwise dark interstate into rhythmic bursts of light. He drives steady, two firm hands on the steering wheel, his legs bent stiffly at the knee because he hasn’t found it in his him to re-adjust the seat. Blameless streetlamps morph into searchlights in the skies above and his heart beats in the floorboards below, wanting and waiting for him to make a mistake, for him to trip up and tear it out as a cop sits down for tea at his table.

His beater rumbles, and he takes his foot off the gas as the speedometer hits ninety. Cause and Effect. It’s all cause and effect, it’s all it’s ever been. People and people make choices – choices – choices – choices – and it does things, as everything does. Everything does things – it all does things and there’s no avoiding – avoiding it because you can’t. You can’t.

You just can’t.

Life doesn’t work that way.

Nothing works that way. Nothing works – works – works – works –

 

“ – And this… Is your baby sister, James.” White morning light streams into the room through the large window, and gives his mother a soft halo; white and gold and full of warmth as she beams down at him.

She’s so soft; soft in the gentle light, soft in how she cradles more blanket than child, soft as she says his name and smiles – smiles – _grins_ at his father, who’s as largely joyful as she. “Wash your hands, and you can hold her.” – Cause and Effect, a good example. 

James is quick to jump up and do as he’s told, and when he comes out of the adjoining restroom with cold and wet hands, he takes his father’s spot on the worn hospital chair and is handed his brand new baby sister, still in her factory packaging, hospital blanket.

 

Works – works – works – “Fuck!” Ryan shouts, slamming both palms into the steering wheel, voice raising, and then breaking – breaking – breaking. He lets out a wounded sound with a short exhale, and pulls off the empty highway as far as the shoulder will let him, practically yanking the keys out of the ignition, forcing his headlights to go dark. “Fuck – fuck – fuck fuck _fuck FUCK!”_

He ends up with his elbows on the steering wheel and his head ducked into his arms as he lets out a sob. Everything just got so twisted and convoluted so quickly after it had been fine – _fine_ – for years. There wasn’t even a warning, just a –

 

“That was your _plan_?!” Ryan takes a step forward, shotgun pointed steady at the man in front of him, “Get rid of me?? After all of… After everything –“

“No, no, no, Ryan, I swear – I didn’t mean _any_ of this –“ Cody flinches, both arms raised high into the air as he hits the edge of the table with his legs. The single overhead light bounces over them as the train rumbles past, and it casts the room into a shaky darkness that makes it hard for his eyes to concentrate on anything other than blinking, but _god_ , he’s so angry and it’s hard – it’s _hard_.

“You sent Brian and Tommy _after_ me, Cody! You told them to kill me and toss me into the fucking _river_ and when I called you to clear it all up you said – you said: Sorry, buddy, but it’s just _business_.” Ryan spits out the last word and advances, grabbing Cody by the shirt and shoving him over the table, farther into the basement. “What, was all this a practical joke? April fools? It’s fucking July, jackass. You expect me to fucking believe that shit?!”

Cody scrambles backwards, jeans scraping on the unfinished floor towards the dresser in the corner. “Ryan, listen –“

Cause and effect. Cause and effect. He knows what he has to do if he doesn’t want to be dragged down by this – because, it all happens and you just have to _react_ to it because that’s all anyone ever does. They react. They receive information and outside stimuli and then react and those reactions cause others and so on and so forth ‘till the end of the end of the end of time and life and the world as it’s known today because our perspectives are so small and meaningless that there's no real right or wrong in the scheme of things, just actions, just things, just people.

Just cause and just effect.

“Ryan, buddy, _please_ –“

“ _No._ ”

“Well, what are you gunna do, then?!” Cody finally shouts, dropping his scared-and-defenseless act like a sack of bowling balls onto the cold, concrete floor. “Kill me like I was gunna kill you?” He stands up and Ryan steps back, momentarily lost in shock, “What are you gunna tell the police when they find Brian and Tommy dead? Me, your best friend, shot in a basement full of blow?”

“I –“ Ryan chokes out as he readjusts the grip on the gun.

“I’ll tell you what he cops are gunna do, and that’s say: huh, looks like this fucker was selling _drugs_ in our sweet, precious ol’ town, and something tits up. Lets ask some questions: lets as his mom those questions, his girlfriend – the neighbors – the bar tender – his _best friend_ – his assistant: _Ma’am, can we see those records please?”_ Cody dips his head and taunts Ryan with a sweeping, sarcastic gesture.

“Oh, what’s this? His accounts and numbers and _whatever_ shit don’t add up! Look! Cody runs this very legitimate and respectable business with his best friend – oh, we know him! His name is _James Ryan Haywood_ and he’s in charge of the accounting! He’s the one that records all that shit, keeps track of the materials and salaries – transfers the money and he’s smart, he should have known something was up – _gosh_ , do you think he’s in on it? Do you think –“

 

“I just don’t think I can name her yet. We barely know her.” His mother says as James just stares down at the bundle in his arms, at his brand new baby sister, small and red and wrinkled like his hands after a bath. It’s so warm under the window, the sun soaks into his skin like a liquid and makes him feel so, so good and so, so, so happy – safe. A child needs to feel safe.

His father lets out a baritone hum, and James continues to watch as the baby smacks her lips and sniffs at the dry, air-conditioned, hospital air. Personally, he thinks she looks like an Avery, or maybe an Alex –

“Samantha.” His father says with a hurt smile that James doesn’t understand. He looks up and catches the way his parents look at each other, but he doesn’t recognize it as anything he’s seen before, and then his mom reaches a hand out to his father, nodding her head with a smile of her own and his father sets a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, like now there’s a link of energy flowing between all of them and the name sticks –

 

He’s stuck. He’s in his truck, pulled over on the side of the high way and he tugs at his hair and curls forward as far as the steering wheel will let him and he just tries to keep on breathing. “I don’t know what to do – I don’t know what to do – I don’t know what to _do_.” He whispers with every breath until he’s lightheaded and grappling with himself to sit up and see straight again – to breath again – gulping air into his lungs like he’s just resurfaced from under the water – chilled and afraid.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fu-“ He sucks in one last breath as he hears police sirens, and holds it, blood freezing as his eyes immediately dart to his gun, sitting propped up against the passenger seat.

He never wanted this – he never wanted any of this. It had started off so easy, so small, it was just _weed_ and everyone smoked it and as long as little kids don’t get their hands on it, then it’s not a problem because it was safe and _healthy_ for a lot of people with nerve issues and then – and then – _fuck,_ it just got to be so much _more_ because there’s a whole world out there, filled to the brim with drugs and then two whole more worlds next to that one filled with pure, _pure_ profit and it's easy to loose yourself to the greed and the cockiness that comes with it.

The sirens grow louder – louder – louder – deafening, and Ryan feels like a corpse still breathing – like he’s trapped under the floorboards – a heart still beating – a telltale heart – he’s never liked Poe. He’s never liked his short stories or his poems but they stick – stick – stick and _he’s_ stuck – stuck – stuck –

 

“Ryan!” Samantha shouts from the shopping cart in front of him, “This is –“ She lets out a volley of giggles, “This is too fast! We’re going to crash!”

“No, we won’t!” Ryan laughs, and then leaps onto the back of the cart as they barrel down the baking isle, straight towards the deli. The wheels are squealing, and a sticky one makes the cart veer off to the left, but he keeps up the speed, occasionally hopping down to run again as the isle wears on and on – stretching on and on as something infinite and something intangible.

Samantha laughs until her face is red, he can tell it is because she keeps turning around to look at him before facing forward again, her hair soaring behind her as she balances on her knees and enjoys the flight, and Ryan can’t stop the smile that overtakes his face, so wide and wry that the muscles in his cheeks ache with the effort.

 

“Ryan!” Cody shouts, swim trunks hiked high over his hips as he leaps and waves from across the river.

Ryan shouts back a greeting, waving with both arms as big as he can, then turns back to his mom, who’s walking peacefully with Samantha’s hand in her own, “Mom, can I-”

“Go ahead, honey.” She nods and Ryan takes off across the beach and into the water, crocs sluggish and barely staying on his feet as he scrambles over the pebbles and smooth, algae covered river rocks.

“Check out what I got!” Cody exclaims, holding up a wooden gun as Ryan emerges from the water, dripping and heavy.

“Is that a…”

“Yes!! My grandpa bought it for me at the Target!”

Ryan gasps and when Cody hands him the piece, he runs his hands over the barrel and plays with the hammer like the people in the movies do when they’re admiring a nice gun.

 

 

“Ryan!” His mom shouts, her voice twinged with a playful annoyance as she bends over and chases after him, like she’s going to scoop him up into her waiting arms, “It’s bath night and you can’t hide from me this time, little boy!”

He laughs and runs circles around the couch until she snatches him up and begins to tickle him until he can’t breathe.

 

“Ryan!” Lee shouts from across the school parking lot. He stops and turns and Lee jogs up to him, backpack bouncing around awkwardly behind. “I was wondering if you’d like to… Maybe catch a movie sometime?”

Ryan can’t breathe.

 

“Ryan!” Samantha, his baby sister, Sammy, Sam, shouts from somewhere far away, “Ryan – please – Oh, _god_.”

Ryan coughs the smoke from his lungs, and desperately tries to keep his eyes open, “Sam!”

“Ryan?!”

“Sam!” He tries to sit up, but finds the dashboard of the Volvo in his lap. With a start, he looks around and finds the car shriveled around him, metal clashing on metal and something putrid filling the air. “Oh, shit, _help_. Please help me!”

“I’m coming, Ryan, don’t worry – don’t worry, it’ll all be okay! I promise!”

He can feel his chest rising and falling too quickly, and he tries not to heave or let the pins and needles in his limbs get to him. “O-Okay,” He sucks in a breath and forces himself to cling to it. When he exhales, he blinks and blinks and breathes and breathes and tries to remain clam. “I’m okay. This is okay. I’m fine-“

There’s a loud scrape, then something shakes the car and he whips his head to the right just in time to see his baby sister crawling through the passenger side door towards him, her hair spilling over her shoulders and her eyes widened with fear and something strong swimming underneath.

She looks like their mom, strong in the same way, unwavering, trustworthy.

Ryan can’t _breathe._

 

“Ryan!” Cody shouts again, white shirt dirty and eyes wild.

“Shut up.” Ryan raises his shotgun and glares down the barrel, but Cody doesn’t listen. He keeps yapping and pointing and exclaiming and _shouting_ and doing everything that he shouldn’t.

“ _Boy_ ,” Cody grits out, brown eyes cold in a way Ryan’s never seen on him before, “Isn’t it silly that this Ryan kid knows how to shoot, and owns the same caliber weapon as the bullet that was found in poor ol’ drug slingin’ Cody’s _fucking_ chest! This is just the craziest of coincidences – Except. It’s _Not_.”

“Cody, if you don’t shut your filthy trap in the next two seconds I’ll-”

Cody yanks the drawer behind him out, and Ryan finds his ears ringing before realizing he pulled the trigger. Cody stares at him like he’s been caught in time, dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion as his mouth drops open, and no sound comes out.

His eyes flicker downwards to the hole in his chest, the growing circle of blood marking where his heart beats, and then he drops to his knees and falls over, a pistol clattering out of his hands and onto the floor next to him.

 

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Samantha asks, one arm outstretched towards the sky as she inspects her hands against the stars.

Ryan turns to look at her, then lets out a breath and continues searching for the big dipper. “I dunno. I was thinking, maybe, like, a soldier.”

“A soldier?”

“Yea, y’know, saving lives, protecting the innocent – It's patriotic. what about you?”

“A scientist.” She replies without hesitating, eyes wide open and focused on the stars and the futures they'll witness a million years too late.

“What kind?”

“Any kind.”

Ryan laughs at her tone, the eagerness, the boldness, and settles into the grass, hands on his stomach as he traces up from the big dipper to the tail of the little dipper. “You find Polaris?”

“Yea.” Sam points into space, but Ryan can’t follow where her finger moves, he’s never been able to, “There’s the big dipper, follow it to the little dipper and then at the very end of the tail of the little dipper… Is… Polaris, the north star.”

Ryan strains his eyes, tries with all his might to open his mind and just _see_ what he’s supposed to, but he can’t. “I just don’t see it.” He says.

Samantha shrugs and drops her hand to her side, done with stargazing. “It’s fine, it’s pretty hard to see.” She says, like it means something to him, like it’ll make him feel better and her words.

 

Samantha never becomes a scientist, she works the register at a CVS with a pharmacy in the back, and Ryan co-owns a local handyman business that makes minimal profit until he decides to take a step towards change, just in the illegal direction and he thought it’d be okay, he thought it’d be fine because this way he can pay for materials for repairs on his parent’s home and buy materials to build a crib for his soon-to-exist niece and – and – and –

 

“Go.” His mother says earnestly from behind the kitchen island. It’s dark, inside and out. The only light that’s on is coming from the living room and it washes over her face and makes her look tired. Sad. So aged, more aged than she should look – than she should ever look.

“What – mom?”

“Baby,” She swiftly walks around the island and he jerks back, away from her, blood on his shirt and shotgun still in his shaking hands.

“Ma-”

“ _Baby_ ,” She’s faster than him in her advance, and before he can protest too much, she’s holding his face in her hands and staring up at him – when did he get taller? He doesn’t ever remember growing up, doesn’t remember when his life took the turn it did – Cause and effect. It all happens so gradually, every new event stacks and stacks and you keep walking the maze, never noticing anything’s different until you suddenly turn back one day, poke your head up over the walls and discover that you’ve walked so far from where you began, for better or for worse – usually for better, sometimes for worse – sometimes – sometimes – sometimes for worse.

She looks up at him with such, sad, sad eyes and murmurs, “You have to go.”

“Mom,” He breathes out, face breaking into something sad, scared, and she slides her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and presses her forehead against his in a familiar familial gesture. Her breath smells like stale coffee, her hair smells like coconut shampoo, her clothes smell like mountain meadow fabric softener, and every single bit of his entire body, mind, and soul want to erase all the bad bits and just start over again, go back to that afternoon in second grade when Cody walked over to him and convinced him to play a game of kickball instead of reading his book – and that’s unfair. It’s unfair to paint Cody like that because he didn’t start out the way he ended up either – but – but – it’s just so _easy_ to blame him, makes his mind blissfully blank with simple reasoning.

“I don’t know what you got yourself into, but they’ll find you, James. They’ll know – and so you have to run.”

“But what about _you_? And dad and Sam? She’s… I can’t – I want to be there for her when she gives birth, I want to be an uncle, I want to build you a _home_ there’s still so much-” That’s the problem, there’s always too much to do, so much to look back over and think to yourself _I could have done that better –_

“James.” She says his name and it’s final.

“Okay, ma, okay. I can – I can.” He’s crying before he can stop himself, and she’s right there to wipe his tears away with her thumbs the way she’s always done it, firm and gentle. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

 

He doesn’t see even one police car. The sirens fade out as soon as they appeared, and Ryan’s left to slump back in his chair, head tilted towards the sky. He’s too close to Columbus to see any stars, the sky’s too polluted, too matte and bright for him to catch a glimpse of anything – and besides, he’s in his truck. He’d have to – he’d have to – he’d have to – Ryan unbuckles, pops the door open, and then sticks his head out, just to check.

No stars.

It’s one in the morning, but there are no stars.

Three cars pass him in succession, a heavy breeze hitting him in their draft, the smell of gasoline burning filling his nose, and he sits back into his seat, not as heavily as he used to.

He glances into his rearview mirror, then pulls back onto the interstate, facing away from the beginnings of dawn.

 

He dyes his hair black and when he looks in the mirror, he finds his mom staring back at him in his place, brow heavy and eyes bruised. The yellow light clings to his skin and turns his face gaunt and pale, so he leaves the bathroom and sits on the queen bed, away from the mirror in the quiet motel room.

The TV bumbles on, fuzzing with static as a man tells him about some vacuum cleaner that will solve all his problems.

His hands are stained dark black with the hair dye, and blood red with self-pity and those don't seem like problems a vacuum cleaner can fix. 

He can still see himself in the mirror, leant forward and lidded eyes staring back at him and he doesn’t look familiar in the way he should. Suddenly, he’s drawn too thin with shadows where they shouldn’t be and his eyes giving way to the long drives and sleepless nights. Suddenly, he’s displaced, he’s not leant forward over a shopping cart as his sister squeals and smiles back at him, brown hair splaying out behind her like a fan, stuck – stuck – stuck in that moment for the rest of his life as he sinks into the happiness and childish glee – he’s in a motel room, hair dripping from his shower as he stares at his shadowed reflection.

It’s cause and effect – it’s all anything’s ever been. Things happen, people react – react – react and that’s just existence. The sun shines, and so the plants grow. People pollute, and so the Earth warms. His parents met each other in the post office, his dad worked behind the counter and his mom was opening a P.O. box, and so Ryan was born. His best friend pulled a gun on him, and so he shot before he could be found out by a bullet first.

You don’t get very much control – at least, not as much as you want.

The TV bumbles on, the picture shorting out for a few seconds before the man returns, teeth white as he smiles and explains how life really is that simple, how a simple and economically priced vacuum cleaner can make everything just that easy.

He’s never owned a vacuum cleaner, he can’t even find Polaris. 

Maybe one day he should give it a shot.

With a surprisingly human huff, Ryan clicks the TV off, then lays on his back and stares at the light on the ceiling until his vision goes purple and Green.

**Author's Note:**

> I discovered a really cool Spotify playlist by o_vagabond over the summer called "ramblin' man - A fahc ryan playlist" and without any means to write, ended up daydreaming in detail this story. If you like fahc au, then you should def go check out the playlist! It's nice bc it's not fast paced like most fahc playlists and it's cool acoustics and really well put together!  
> I'm thinking about writing little bits for the rest of the crew, continuing w Ryan's story and maaaybe a reader insert if I'm super feelin' it,,, but anyways, thanks for reading and comments and kudos are hella appreciated!


End file.
